


His Kurt

by DyrneKeeper



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/pseuds/DyrneKeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another 414 post-ep. After the Wedding That Wasn't, Kurt and Blaine work some things out - sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Kurt

Kurt doesn’t find Blaine downstairs - Blaine finds him first.

Blaine's not sure what Kurt's doing. He's not even sure Kurt knows what he's doing, and that's a revelation, and a shock - and not an entirely pleasant one. Kurt - always knows what he wants. He makes lists and charts and color-codes and highlights and plans and plans and _plans_ and always knows exactly what he wants, and how he's going to get it.

One of those things used to be Blaine.

Now Kurt's not sure he wants Blaine, and Blaine knows it.

But Blaine has learned things from Kurt, about the wanting, and the getting. He knows he's clueless sometimes, he knows he misses things that he really should see. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and in the weeks after they'd first gotten together he'd looked back and seen everything that had led up to - well. He knows how Kurt planned, and how he waited.

So Blaine waits now. He lies back on the blankets that still smell like _them_ and can't help wriggling a little bit with the happiness of it, of being right back here where he knows they belong, and checks the clock and gives Kurt time. He left without his bowtie on; a minute to fix that, in the hallway. Blaine's seen him do it in less, but his hands will be shaking, just a little. This room was a stage and Blaine knows it; the hall is the wings and Kurt will need the time to put himself back together again, deconstruct from whatever act he was putting on, transitioning to whatever act is coming after intermission. And it will be an act; Blaine has no doubt about that. Thirty seconds to catch his breath; Kurt will count them, put his head back against the wall, his throat stretched out long and pale, and breathe the way dancing has taught him to breathe. Maybe his fingers will flex on the pale wallpaper, leave fine fingerprints Blaine can touch later, braille memories in the wall.

Blaine bites his own lip to hide the smile in, and then, with no one to hide it from, lets it out. He drags his hand down his own side, over the cotton of the t-shirt that hasn’t had time to warm to his skin yet, under and across his own stomach. No need for a wall; Kurt had left his fingers all over Blaine.

Five seconds to lower his chin again and set his jaw and walk for the elevator, who knows how long to wait for a car and get down to the first floor again. Three minutes, just to be safe. 

And now - Blaine rolls over on his stomach, hugs a pillow to his chest and watches his own face in the mirror. Just give him time to mingle, and forget, and wait, just a little, maybe even get a little impatient. Not enough to really irritate him - no, Blaine knows on what thin ice he’s walking. But enough so that he’ll be looking over his shoulder back towards the lobby, enough to drift out of whatever conversation he’s having if he thinks he hears a familiar voice at his back or a touch at his side. 

Fifteen minutes, in all. Blaine swings his legs back over the edge of the bed, finds his jacket on the floor and his shirt on the chair and, grinning still a little, his tie on the nightstand. 

Blaine waits in the ballroom doorway, just off to the side, when he spots him again. Talking to some of the girls - talking, ostensibly - his head turned just the slightest bit to the side, like he’s waiting for - 

He’s absolutely beautiful, and that derails all other trains of thought. 

Kurt turns toward him just the slightest bit when Blaine joins the little circle and puts a hand carefully low on Kurt’s back. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey yourself. Did I miss anything good?”

“Mm. Not really - Miss Pillsbury’s relatives are much more reserved than the Hummels or the Hudsons. I’m almost disappointed.”

“What, not enough scandal for you at the wedding-that-wasn’t?”

Kurt just raises a coy eyebrow, and leans into Blaine’s hand, just a little.

“Ugh.” Mercedes tosses her head and grabs Marley’s elbow. “So done with you two, I am _done_ playing chaperone. Would you go get a room already?”

Blaine makes the mistake of catching Kurt’s eye, and they both simultaneously get a severe case of the giggles.

“Oh my god,” Mercedes rolls her eyes and stalks off, Marley in tow. All Blaine can see, though, is the bright honest happiness in Kurt’s eyes, the flush creeping under his collar in embarrassment, and just for that moment he’s _Kurt_ again, _his_ Kurt, self-conscious and just a little bit shy about what they do together. He seizes his moment, slides his hand around Kurt’s waist to take his hand. 

“May I have this dance?”

Kurt gives him such a helpless-hopeless look, like Blaine is a dork and a fool but still his whole dance card, and Blaine smiles and grabs his other hand. His Kurt, indeed.

They sway a bit, on the spot, and Blaine’s never going to get over this feeling, dancing with Kurt like this - they’ve never danced like this. Not so many times, not for so long, and it’s just another reason on his long and rapidly-growing list of reasons to _get Kurt back._

Kurt probably would have had highlighters. Blaine just counts the smiles he gets when he swings their hips back and forth a little, and pulls him closer.

Kurt bites his lip a little, and that’s when Blaine knows he has him. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Blaine tilts his head, affects just the slightest confusion. “But we just - “

“Blaine.” Kurt tightens his fingers around Blaine’s. 

“Yes Kurt?” Because he can do this now, too, can tease and be just the smallest bit of a jackass, because Kurt has opened the door and let him through.

“I want to go to your house.”

He says it - like a statement that is true, and nothing else. Blaine has to stop turning them on the spot. “Not the -?”

Kurt swallows, and lets his eyelashes drop just for an instant. “No.”

“Okay then,” Blaine has to swallow too. “Let me - get our coats.”

He folds them, heavy winter-woolen, familiar, over his arm, and meets Kurt back in the lobby. Just when - just when Blaine thinks he’s got this thing figured out, just a little, Kurt goes darting ahead again and Blaine has to start his assumptions all over again from scratch.

Well. Kurt’s eyes sparkle at him when Blaine hands him his coat. Not entirely from scratch.

It’s his car, so Blaine drives, and it is bizarre how normal this feels. The car, the songs on the radio, it’s all so ordinary, and even Kurt’s presence in the passenger seat is so familiar Blaine struggles to find it odd, or weird, or wrong. He’s not even sure why he’s trying to placate that nagging voice in his head that says _this isn’t right_ and _you hurt him before_ and _he hurt you before_ and _you’ll hurt each other again_ , because - no. Blaine is happy to be here, and whatever is going on in Kurt’s head Kurt is happy to be here, and that’s what matters, right? If they can just take this one moment at a time, one day at a time, and just be happy together...

Blaine pulls into his driveway - house empty, thank you, Mom and Dad - and circles around to Kurt’s door to open it for him, and gives him a hand out. Kurt raises an eyebrow but takes his hand anyway, and it’s almost just like any night they used to spend together, whenever parental absences had allowed. 

“Do you want coffee or anything?” Blaine asks, while he hangs up their jackets and Kurt bends over to unlace his shoes.

“Do you still have any of that mocha espresso stuff?”

“I think so, let me check.” Blaine knows they do, actually; no one else in the house ever drank it but Kurt, and there hadn’t been a good enough reason to throw the rest of it away. 

They end up sitting at the kitchen island, knocking knees between their stools and warming their hands around steaming mugs while they talk over the details of the non-wedding. 

“Can you imagine what it’s going to be like at school tomorrow?” Blaine buries his head in his arms on the countertop. Kurt makes a sympathetic noise and touches his shoulder, just gently. “It’s going to be a nightmare, god, glee club is going to be unbearable. 

Kurt snorts, and the touch on Blaine’s shoulder vanishes. “I’m so glad I’m going to be three states away by Monday. I don’t know how long I can stand the proximity.”

Something drops, sharp and low, in Blaine’s stomach, and he turns his head to look at Kurt. Kurt bites his lip. “I mean -”

“It’s okay.” Blaine sits upright again, and picks up their empty mugs. It will be okay because it has to be.

Kurt spins on his stool to follow him, and hooks his hands around a knee. “Do you - um. Do you think anyone would mind if I came to Glee with you tomorrow?”

Blaine nearly drops the mugs in the sink. “I thought you didn’t want to be anywhere near us when the stuff started hitting the fan.”

“I didn’t say that,” Kurt smile is small, and he’s rocking a little on his seat. “Besides, there are perks.” He slides off the stool, and crosses the kitchen to catch Blaine’s hands. “Very _friendly_ perks.”

“Oh. Definitely.” Blaine nods, and smirks right back at Kurt when Kurt looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Want to go upstairs? You know, as friends?” 

“Blaine Warbler, always the gentleman.” Kurt rolls his eyes and kisses him, and there’s another little shock that throws everything off balance again, Kurt trying to change the rules again; Kurt hasn’t called him that in - well, in years. He comes down from the kiss onto his heels and gives Blaine that coy-eyed smirk again. “Yes. I do.”

Upstairs in Blaine’s room Kurt goes for Blaine’s laptop to put on music, and Blaine sits on the edge of his bed to watch him. It’s the same bed he’d gotten out of that morning, the same room he’d gotten dressed in for the wedding this morning, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it, fantasized about it, bringing Kurt back here for the night.

Amazing how quickly things change.

“So.” Kurt spins around in the desk chair, and crosses his legs, an eyebrow raised and that smirk, again, dancing at the corner of his mouth. “What do you want to do?” 

Blaine lets himself fall backwards onto the bed and catches himself on his elbows. He grins, and Kurt laughs at him and comes to stand in front of him, legs between Blaine’s, his hands empty and twitching like they want to touch. “You,” Blaine says, because Kurt’s eyes are daring him to, and also because he thinks, bold as Kurt’s been, he still needs this, this reassurance that Blaine really does love him, and always will want him.

“Such a line,” Kurt rolls his eyes and crawls up over Blaine on the bed, and Blaine falls onto his back so Kurt can bracket him with his hands and his knees.

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

Blaine can feel the breath hitch in his own chest, can see the flickering instant of shock in Kurt’s eyes. He’s known for a while that he has no idea what script Kurt is working off of, but he is sure that, whatever it is, _that_ was not in it. A moment of honesty, maybe, a moment of habit, maybe, but whatever and whyever it is Blaine grasps after it, too eager to stop and think clearly when _that_ has always been the clearest thing there is

“ _Kurt_ ”

“Don’t.” Kurt puts his hand over Blaine’s mouth. It’s a visible struggle, Kurt getting himself back under control, and Blaine tries to pry Kurt’s hand away, he doesn’t _want_ Kurt back under control, he wants _his_ Kurt. It hurts, to have him so close, and so far away.

“Blaine, please, don’t.” Kurt lets his hand drop to the bedspread, but his shoulders are bowed and it doesn’t feel like a victory. Under the burning chance for triumph something else is snaking low in Blaine’s chest, cold and slick and ugly: Fear. Push this too hard, and Kurt walks away, and maybe this time he won’t ever come back. Blaine is aware of the second chance he’d been given, earlier tonight, and as much as he _wants_ \- it burns in him, an almost physical sensation - he can wait. Hecanwaithecanwaithecanwait. 

It will be worth it. So he swallows and tries to ignore the way it doesn’t make the fear go away, and doesn’t make the burning hope any better. “I won’t.”

Kurt picks at the shoulder of Blaine’s suit jacket, and doesn’t meet Blaine’s eyes. “Really?”

And Blaine - he can’t. He can’t have this conversation, not again, he can’t listen to Kurt talk himself down from this, again. One of these times it might actually work, and he has to go back to New York on Monday, and just - no. So Blaine doesn’t say anything, just gets him by the shoulders and rolls them so that he’s on top and Kurt is on his back on Blaine’s bed, blinking too-bright eyes up at him, hands already reaching for Blaine’s tie.

They undress each other, easy-familiar fingers on buttons and belts and ties, and when they’re both naked Blaine catches a hand under Kurt’s shoulder and smiles at him and tugs, and Kurt smiles back, just a little, and rolls onto his stomach and pillows his head in his arms while Blaine touches him.

Kurt’s skin, pale and a little bit golden in the low lamplight, neck shoulders back waist. Blaine traces the clean strong line of his spine with his fingers, down to the swell of his ass and the tops of this thighs. Kurt squirms a little, ticklish, and Blaine smiles warm and wide where Kurt can’t see him, and kisses the same line down his back. 

He kisses the two dimples at the small of Kurt’s back - precious, familiar - and then hesitates. Kurt makes an inquisitive noise, eventually, while Blaine pets his hip and thinks about it.

“Blaine -” Kurt’s voice is muffled, almost a squeak, when Blaine finally decides to go for it and nips gently at his skin, and then starts kissing farther down. Blaine had thought about doing this, before, Kurt had even asked tentatively, for it and about it, but it had always been too much, too edgy and kinky and weird for them. But Blaine presses a kiss to the crease of Kurt’s thigh and his ass and breathes him in, clean-dark-sweet-sweaty Kurt, and can’t help wanting it. It had been one of the images that had tortured him, the first awful weeks when Kurt was in New York and Blaine was still here, all the things they hadn’t had time for yet, all the fantasies that had left him writhing and hard alone in the dark in this bed, and he’d promised himself that when they were together again he wouldn’t hold anything back. When _when_ had become _if_ , Blaine had just promised himself harder.

So he kisses Kurt, _there,_ tentatively and then eagerly, laps and then licks while Kurt freezes and then trembles and then whimpers above him, rocking back against Blaine’s eager tongue as he gives up and gives in. 

“Blaine - I’m -” Kurt sounds shocked, and then his hips twitch like he’s surprised at his own shock. “Blaine I’m gonna.” 

Blaine pulls back just far enough to press a kiss into Kurt’s ass, and Kurt relaxes again. “It’s okay. You can.”

So Kurt hides his face in his own arm again, and bucks and writhes and then comes in a full-body shudder, and he’s still shaking, loose and uncontrolled, when he manages to brace his weight on his arm and then roll over onto his back, panting and looking up at Blaine. There’s an odd spark when their eyes meet, eye-to-eye contact after the strange intense intimacy of _that_ , so strange that anything could feel more intimate or revealing. But it does, and Blaine realizes that Kurt’s chest is heaving, barely-controlled gasps that he’s suddenly terribly afraid are sobs.

“Oh, god, Kurt, are you - are you okay?”

He pulls back, up on his knees, but Kurt grabs his wrist to keep him there and Blaine hovers over him, off-balance, while Kurt blinks, refocuses his eyes again on Blaine’s face, and takes another shuddering breath. “Please kiss me?”

“Oh, god, Kurt -” Kurt’s arms go around Blaine’s neck, a vice-strong hold, and his mouth is wet and slick and sweet and heartbreakingly familiar. They kiss until Blaine’s chest feels like it’s going to crack, just from this, slide of lips and tongue together, something old and something so new and frightening. Blaine doesn’t know what to do with it and so he doesn’t try to do anything with it, just holds Kurt closer and kisses him while he can while Kurt starts to whimper again and rock underneath him. 

“Please fuck me,” he breathes in Blaine’s ear, and Blaine nearly comes from that, abruptly and irrevocably on edge while Kurt pulls his head back to blink up at him, blown-black eyes and kiss-red lips and fragile, glowing skin.

“Okay.”

It’s weird and intense in ways that Blaine doesn’t know how to deal with, rolling off Kurt to grab the lube and condoms and then opening him up, gently, but determinedly. It’s weird because they’re not allowed to talk about it, what Blaine just did, and what he did was intimate in ways they’ve never been. If they were the way they used to be they would talk about it, spin words out of their mouths along with the kisses and make it all make sense. But they’re not, and they’re _not_ , and Blaine just can’t process it on his own, and he’s not sure Kurt can either. 

So he lets his jaw go tense and works his way into Kurt, slowly, gently, and then more firmly and then his body takes over, rolling rocking thrusts into Kurt’s body while Kurt pants and moans beneath him. Even if they’re not talking about it’s still a lot, it’s so much, and Kurt ends up whimpering in Blaine’s arms and hiding his face in his neck while Blaine gets an arm under his shoulders to hold him closer and Kurt is scratching at his back and they’re both kind of undone. Blaine’s known for a while, and suspected for longer, that sex can mean different things at different times to different people and still be okay, still be good, still be amazing and wonderful and meaningful- Blaine doesn’t think that’s bullshit, or overjustification - and if he can’t convince Kurt he’ll just have to show him. So he does, or tries to, rocks into Kurt and kisses him while he snakes his free hand down between them, to wrap around Kurt and pull him toward orgasm.

Kurt comes with a strangled gasp and Blaine claps his mouth over Kurt’s to muffle it, habit in the empty silent house. Kurt’s hips roll, and Blaine’s vision goes white, white-hot pleasure that they and only they (he thinkshopesprays) can make it.When Blaine blinks and can see again Kurt’s got him by the hand, his thumb stroking back and forth, so gently, over his knuckles. He lifts his head enough to kiss Blaine once, just gently, and Blaine slumps down on top of him and hides his face in the safe Kurt-smelling slope of Kurt’s shoulder, so very, very sure. He had felt it in the hotel room the first time, and then almost instantly doubted when Kurt had danced away and melted Blaine’s brain with how much of a sexy fucking tease he had somehow become and this weird _thing_ between them had become just a wonderful flirting chase all over again - 

Kurt is always Blaines, underneath all of Kurt’s bullshit and Blaine’s screwups and both of their occasional and overwhelming stupidity they will always have this - Kurt, all of the Kurts, all the masks and faces he thinks he needs to pull while he sorts out whatever he needs to sort out - they are all Blaine’s, and always be, because there is just _this_ Kurt, sweaty and breathing hard underneath him, contained by his beautiful damp-glowing skin (marvelous what a _person_ is, and what can be compassed in them), and he is Blaine’s.

“Sleep now,” Kurt says, voice tired and raspy.They dispose of the condom, clean up with tissues and then pull the covers up and over themselves.

After that, after this whole insane, maddening, wonderful day, it is strange that it is as nerve-wracking as it is to put his arm over Kurt’s lovely naked side, to do nothing more than touch, hand to skin as they both start to drift. But Kurt just smiles, eyes already closed, when Blaine kisses him on the shoulder, and then there’s just dark and blankets and Kurt-scent and Kurt-warmth, and Blaine lets himself slip into sleep.


End file.
